


choking up flowers covered in my love

by mqry



Series: the music of lightning and the flashes of thunder [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton's A+ Parenting, Drug Use, F/M, Flowers, Hanahaki Disease, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Poor Philip, So many flowers, alex is sad, did i mention flowers, everybody needs a hug, john is VERY SAD, people die, please read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 14:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13789776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mqry/pseuds/mqry
Summary: John has never liked the stench of flowers, overwhelming aromas of sickly sweet tones and bright notes of gardens. He thought he was finally free from the suffocating smells.And then he met Alex.He met Alex and fell hard and fast and he was so helpless. He fell in love with Alex and his feelings for him blossomed like roses and daisies and baby’s breath.the one where john coughs up flowers over alex





	choking up flowers covered in my love

John has never liked the stench of flowers, overwhelming aromas of sickly sweet tones and bright notes of gardens. He once brought them everyday for his sick mother and placed them by her beside and sat with her until they began to wilt where he would replace them. (The flowers were sick so they kept his mom sick). Before she opened her eyes from her slumber, the wilted flowers would be replaced with vibrant ones. 

His father never liked bouquets, said that flowers should be out in the sun and with the whole gardens. His mother argued, said that flowers were meant to be there to comfort you in your time of need, there to help you when you needed help. (John never knew a time when flowers brought him happiness). 

But John has never liked the stench of flowers. He has never liked flowers since they have brought the death of his mother. He has never liked flowers since it brought years of painful bruises and angry shouts exploding in his ears. (He can’t open his eyes when he hears yelling anymore). He wants to move away from flowers as quickly as possible. 

But Martha. 

Martha is one of the only things that can make him happy anymore. She’s not perfect at all, but she’s so perfect to him. She’s diamonds and gold and she’s too good to ever be hurt by anybody. (She’s not flowers, she hates them too). He can’t leave her alone with their father, and he vows to protect her in any way he can. Martha is the last thing his mother leaves behind. It’s just him and Martha, Martha and him against his father. She’s his only sibling, and the only family that he knows he can trust. 

Him and Martha spend long nights in the same room. Martha’s bed is right by the window, and John’s is right by the door. There’s enough room in mansion for each of them to have their own room, but Martha hates flowers too. Martha doesn’t like flowers, and she makes sure that there’s none in their room. She throws them out before John can realize they’re there. 

Him and Martha spend the days together, and John protects her from their father. He knows Henry would hurt her if John wasn’t there. So John makes sure he’s always there. But one day, it’s Martha who wasn’t there. (She wasn’t there to keep the flowers out). 

Martha was sixteen. Martha was sixteen and John was eighteen. She never cared much for love, never thought that romance was really anything special. But she met somebody and the two of them were young and in love. (John really liked the guy, he was nice and he was kind to Martha. David looked at her like she was the world, and Martha looked at him like he was the sun). 

It was their one year anniversary, and Martha was sixteen. She asked John to help her dress nice. She always said that John had much better fashion sense than her, anyway. John would joke back and say that it was the gay in him. He helped her. Henry didn’t bother to find out why she cared so much about her appearance. He didn’t care that she looked so nice. John did. He took pictures and when David came to pick her up, he didn’t bring flowers. (No flowers, she had asked. She didn’t want anything with flowers). 

He brought chocolates for her instead. And Martha adored chocolates. David took her out and John took a video of the entire thing. (No flowers). John told the both of them to stay safe. He whispered to Martha to use protection always. 

John got the call a few hours later. His phone dropped to the floor. (Supermarket flowers this time). The both of them were in an accident. Martha was wrapped in flowers on impact. David had severe injuries and lasted two hours in the hospital. (Flowers. Flowers. Flowers). 

That was it. Martha wasn’t there anymore, and the flowers were. On the day of funeral flowers, John sobbed louder and harder. He tried to speak, but could barely choke the words out. His father would later reprimand him for crying. (Laurens men don’t cry). 

That was it. Martha was gone, and there was nothing left for him here. (Just flowers. Too many flowers). 

He moved away from the flowers to a place where the only flowers that grew were in the cracks of the sidewalks, growing in between the concrete. Where the only flowers were in supermarkets and florist shops. (He doesn’t look at the flowers.) He moved to a place where he was free to be who he was, where he could learn so much more than he thought possible. 

He thought he was finally free from flowers and hurt and pain. He finally had made friends who kept the flowers away, who made him feel safe. (Eliza is just like his sister. She’s just like her and John would almost swear that Martha’s spirit is somewhere inside her). He thought he was finally free from the suffocating smells. (He can’t trust anything anymore). 

And then he met Alex. 

He met Alex and fell hard and fast and he was so helpless. He fell in love with Alex and his feelings for him blossomed like roses and daisies and baby’s breath. (Flowers never helped him). 

He was on Cloud 9, soaring above the skies and heavens and utterly blissed out. He thought the flowers would never reach him but then…(He hates flowers because they’re so ugly but they’re so, so beautiful). 

He felt something in his chest. Something in his throat, choking him and refusing to let him breathe. He holds his neck, opens his mouth and lets flowers fall out. Flowers that fill his mouth and body, drenched in his dark, rich blood. He feels yellow tulips and lilies clogging up his airways whenever he sees Alex, accompanied by the dreadful sense of abandonment, hurt and (love). 

His heart squeezes when he sees Alex and Eliza cuddling together, whispering words of red and pink carnations and blue violets to each other. (Violet was his favorite color, but he doesn’t know anymore.) 

He chokes up flowers and they pour out of his mouth, spilling alongside with blood and pain and his insides. John hates flowers, hates the stench of them, hates the sickeningly sweet smell of flowers. Hates the way that Alex gives them to Eliza right in front of John. Hates that there’s a flower engraved in the ring Alex gave Eliza, carved inside. (He’s so happy for Eliza. He’s so happy for her, but he can’t stand it). 

When John stands next to him on his day, Alex is crying. Tears of diamonds and turquoise streak down as Eliza wears white carnations, roses, and orange blossoms. She’s crying, too. Eliza is so beautiful, she’s stunning and gorgeous and John can almost see Martha in her place. (John plays his own tears off as happy). 

When they stand to face each other for declarations of love, John can’t think of a worse torture. He feels flowers poking at the back of his throat, acacias threatening to throw up over both Alex and himself. His eyes begin to water, his face becomes red. His throat is scratchy and his heart aches. The flowers refuse to stay inside, and John has to cover his mouth to hide the petals of pink camellia and daffodils. (John doesn’t want to let everybody see him bleed, his image of strong falter because of a disease). 

Lafayette puts a hand on his shoulder, knowing. (Lafayette always knew, knows but he doesn’t know about jonquils filling his lungs). John wants to leave, wants to throw up every flower that blocks his airways, wants to stop watching his love leave for another. John wants to go, go, go - 

The reception isn’t nearly as bad as the ceremony. John disappears from the party to throw up as much as he can. The flowers, covered in blood, are bright and blooming. He coughs and splutters and cries. The tears flow terribly and he can barely breathe and more flowers. It’s loud outside, so he covers his ears because he can’t stand loud noises. (Loud noises mean cuts and bruises and yelling).

There’s so much going on; he can only hear himself sobbing and the terrible retching of flowers. He can’t stand it, can’t stand it. He hears his name from far away. The voice doesn’t just pull at his heartstrings, it yanks and jerks and wrenches and John lets out a broken cry. (It’s the flowers, the flowers are tearing him apart, those nasty little things). 

His senses are stolen from him, because the only thing he can feel are the flowers (Flowers that choke his throat, flowers that that force him to bleed) and the pressure on his ears. The only thing he can hear is the muffled beat of the music on the speakers, the everlasting happiness of the guests. 

But he can’t see, only splotches of color, of flowers. The only thing he can smell and taste is the sickly sweet scent of flowers, it’s too sweet, it’s too bitter, it’s not right. (They’re everywhere, he can’t escape). And they’re covered in his blood, he’s drowning, he’s drowning, flowers, drowning, the flowers are drowning him. Every bone in his terribly aching body screams for Alex, Alex, Alex and he’s in so much pain - 

“John!” The voice cries out terribly, a raw voice that has no way to reach him, and the splashes of color die out. He’s still shaking, horribly so. Alex. (He’s so close, but so far away). 

Alex forces his hands away from his ears, and the yelling simmers down, only harsh whispers of the past. Alex wraps his arms around John’s shivering body, and holds him tight. The two are in the bathroom of a wedding, one horribly in love, and the other wonderfully. (John hates love, it’s such a fickle thing). 

John compels himself to open his eyes, and the light is too bright but he can see. The first thing he sees aren’t flowers - its Alex. Alex is staring down at him, worried for his best man who throws up flowers at a wedding. There’s a knowing look on his face, and John just buries his face into Alex’s chest and sobs. (He cries and cries and cries, and Alex holds him through). 

“I’m sorry, Alex, I’m sorry, I tried not to, I’m sorry, I should’ve known…” John continues to babble endlessly. Alex rubs his hand against his back and shushes him. John’s mindless talk dies down to sniffling and heavy breathing. (Stupid declarations of love, stupid sayings and stupid, stupid, stupid). John pushes himself away from Alex’s chest. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Alex asks, and John shakes his head. 

“How could I keep you away from her? You’re not mine, you’re hers and she makes you happy,” John explains. 

“John, if the timing was different, if you told me, we’d be fine -” Alex tries to say, but John interrupts him. 

“No, we wouldn’t, we wouldn’t be okay, nothing would be right because you’re supposed to be with her and what would people say?” John says. Alex looks down at him, emotion unreadable in his eyes. (Is it empathy? Is it pity? Is it sadness? Is it - love?) 

“Who cares what they would say? John, you’re - you’re sick, and we’re celebrating! How could I have not seen?” Alex questions himself. John knows now, now would be the time to finally have him, finally be happy and no more flowers. (He knows, he could never keep Alex away from being happy and Eliza makes him happy. And he makes Eliza happy, and Eliza is just like Martha). 

“Tell me, Alex, if you could go back in time, would you choose me instead of her?” John inquires and Alex’s mouth slams shut. John knows the answer, of course, but he needs Alex to realize it. Alex is all he cares about, he’s the sun and the moon and the sky and he’s not flowers. 

Alex begins to say something, but then closes his mouth. “Yeah,” John breathes. “I know.” 

John wants to stay longer in Alex’s arms, just the two of them on the bathroom floor, but he knows he can’t. 

“I’ll be fine, Alex. I always am,” John promises and Alex gives him one last hug. 

“I’m sorry, John. Tell me, is there anything I can do?” Alex asks, and John smiles weakly. 

“Stay my best friend. That’s all,” John asks of him. Alex nods. 

The two of them pull apart and John feels something coming up in his lungs, but he hides it from Alex. Alex can’t know he’s in any more pain. Alex shouldn’t know. 

“I’ll be outside. I hope you come join the party. We’ll be doing the speeches soon,” Alex says. John nods. 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” John replies truthfully. Alex smiles and walks out of the stall. As soon as John can hear the bathroom door closing, he clutches his stomach and leans over the toilet bowl. (But it feels different, there’s something different about these flowers). 

This time, it’s not blooming, beautiful flowers that are thrown up. This time, it’s an entire bouquet of withering, dying, ugly flowers. (Just like him). 

 

When Alex and Eliza start a family, John is the first one that Alex tells. He tells him of how Eliza tells him she’s pregnant and how he can’t wait to see his son. John’s heart swells up painfully. (Why did she have the privilege to start a family with Alex? Why couldn’t he? But she’s just like Martha, she deserves a family). 

The next nine months don’t hurt as badly as John thinks. He stills retches the flowers every time he thinks of his love. The flowers are ugly and withered. He still thinks of that day that seems so long ago. (That day when Alex told him he couldn't love him).

He's gotten better at hiding the flowers. Much better. Lafayette doesn't give him that knowing look anymore, he doesn't seem to know and that's just the way that John likes it. But Alex? Alex knows. Alex knows and every time he looks at John. John and tell there's only one thought in his mind when Alex gives him that look; Flowers flowers flowers. (He doesn't have any proof but he knows it. How could Alex ever not think of flowers when he looked at John?)

Everything's different now. Nothing's different but everything's different and it's all because of the flowers - daisies and tulips and lilies. John hates them, hates them, hates them. (Knows Alex probably hates them too). 

So when Alex and Eliza start a family, John doesn't give them flowers. He wishes them luck and he gives his love. He knows Alex won't be like his own dad, won't give his son bruises and cuts and yell. (Hopes his son won’t have to cover his ears when the noise is too loud). 

She's in the hospital now. Eliza is in the hospital now and they're starting a family. They're starting a family and John can't get over the father. They're starting a family and John still throws up flowers. They're starting a family and John still hopes that one day Alex will be his. (He almost wishes that Eliza wasn’t there, but Eliza is an angel with wings and John can’t help but adore her. She’s just like Martha and John loves Martha). 

Fate heard. Fate heard but fate always hated John. Fate heard and hurt John while healing him. After Eliza laid on the bed and closed her eyes to rest, she didn't wake up again all she had left behind was her legacy. (She’s just like Martha. She never left the hospital bed). 

Philip. 

John cried when he held him. Felt as though Philip was his own son, loved him exactly so. John was there for Philip’s first birthday, heard Philip’s adorable laugh that could turn hearts of stone into hearts of gold. He was there when Philip babbled his first word, while Alex laid in bed and thought of raven hair. (John tried to talk to Alex, but Alex can’t hear him through Eliza’s melodious voice). 

John was there when Philip made his first stinky, while Alex learned to listen to colors. John was there when Philip made his first steps, while Alex flew high and gazed into stunning black eyes. John was there when Philip called him Dada, and John’s heart melted. Alex was wrapped up in red dresses, dresses that he thought could replace blue. (While John taught Philip how to live, Philip taught John how to stop coughing up flowers). 

John and Philip are the ones who go on family vacations. Alex stays at home and writes.(John doesn’t care what he writes anymore). John’s the one who takes Philip to Disney World for the first time, who takes him to meet the characters. Alex stays home and writes about nothing. 

It’s Philip’s first day at school, and John dressed him. It is Philip’s first day of school, and John watches the bus take him away. Philip is 5 years old, and he is convinced that John has to be his real father. (John felt his heartstrings yank once more as the bus left). 

Alex had asked John to move in, since he couldn’t bear to live all alone in the house he lived in with Eliza. John accepted, not for Alex. For Philip. Because he couldn’t leave Philip alone with somebody who couldn’t bother to look at his son. While Philip drove away to school, Alex laid in bed. (After five years, all Alex had done was mourn). 

John storms back into the house, where Alex is sitting on the couch, cradling a cup of coffee and staring blankly at the news that plays on the TV. John slams his hand on the table in front of him and glares at Alex, who has sunken red eyes and pale cheeks. (A man who could build mountains with words and cathedrals and palaces is now destroyed). 

“Alexander,” John demands, and Alex turns to face him. He doesn’t say anything. “Where is your son?” Alex shrugs in reply. “He’s at school,” John answers. Alex nods and turns his face back to the TV. John slams his hand against the table again. “Alexander!” 

Alex jumps at this. John had never raised his voice at him before. “Your son is at school,” John repeats. “Your son is at school. Where are you?” John asks. Alex blinks. “Where have you been? For the last five years, where have you been?!” 

John waits for an answer, but he knows he won’t get one. He scoffs and crosses his arms. “Philip comes home at 3:10. I’m going to work, but I’ll be back in time for Philip. Will you?” (No). 

While John drives to the hospital for work, he feels a sensation in his lungs. A feeling that he hadn’t felt in a while. A feeling that he hadn’t felt since Philip. 

Flowers. 

John feels tears pricking at the back of his eyelids. He pulls into a random parking lot and tries to compose himself. How? How could he do something like this to Philip? How could he do something like this to himself? John can’t breathe, can’t handle it, so he runs into a random store and pants for the bathroom. The employee gives him a strange look, but points him in the direction of the back of the store. (Not again, not again. How, how, how?) 

He slams the door behind him, and props himself over the toilet bowl. The flowers come out again, he spits out petunias and marigolds. John hates himself, hates the flowers. (He never bothered to find out what they meant). 

When he goes to work, he spends his time working mechanically and trying to block out any thoughts of Alex from coming into his mind. But he can’t, he can’t and at least once every hour, he feels flowers growing in his chest. (No matter what he does, the flowers follow him everywhere). 

It’s right before his shift ends when he heaves out his final bouquet. It’s not covered in blood, they’re clean and perfect. Ambrosia, purple hyacinths, gladiolus, pink and red roses, forget-me-nots, primroses… John picks up the flowers when they all come to an end. He picks them up and stumbles out of the bathroom. (The flowers are gorgeous, stunning and beautiful and they catch the attention of every doctor who walks beside him). 

A patient who is on a wheelchair, an old lady who was being watched over for a severe case of the flu, looks at the bouquet. She looks up at John, who realizes he is being watched. 

“Mrs. Washington. Anything I can do for you?” John asks, and the old lady motions towards the bouquet. John hands them to her, and she studies them as she holds them in her grasp. 

“I used to work a flower shop when I was very young,” Mrs. Washington says. “Have you ever bothered to learn the meanings of flowers?” 

John shakes his head. “No, ma’am,” He replies truthfully. 

“I used to hate flowers. Because I used to cough them up all the time. It was a sickness. I loved one man, George Washington. And everyday, he would walk in with somebody that wasn’t me. Everyday, he would ask for flowers for somebody that wasn’t me. And I hated the flowers. They were never for me.

“And right after he left the shop, I would run to the bathroom and cough up more flowers than were probably in that store. Betsy, my co-worker, held my hair back. I would cry in my arms. The flowers were covered in my own blood. 

Then one day, George walked in and asked for a bouquet of love. He asked for the biggest bouquet we had, the one that showed the most love. Right after he placed his order and left, Betsey and I both rushed to the bathroom. But this time, my flowers weren’t covered in blood. And they weren’t sad flowers. I remember the very bouquet.

“Ambrosia and roses and primroses, lilies, forget-me-nots… Oh, they were so beautiful. And I knew. I knew exactly what they meant. When we finished George’s order, he gave the flowers right back to me. And I jumped into his arms. And we wrote a love story like no other. It was beautiful. We married.

“I suffered, yes, but imagine if I had never threw up that last bouquet. A bouquet that looks quite similar to yours. Would you like to know what it means?” John stares at her in shock. Mrs. Washington never seemed to remember anything of her past life. Why was she telling him all of this? 

“If - if you’d like,” John replies. Mrs. Washington smiles. She touches the petals of the ambrosia. 

“He loves me back,” She says. She caresses the hyacinths, and she studies them for a moment. “He’s sorry,” 

She does the same for every flower. “He’s sincere. Believe me. I love you. I can’t live without you. And true love,” Mrs. Washington looks up at him. “Fate works in mysterious ways. It won’t tell you it’s true love if it’s not,” She gives him back his bouquet. 

John stares back at her. Mrs. Washington turns away and the intern wheeling her leads her back into her room. 

It’s 2:45 when he comes home. He has to go back to work at 8:30, which is Philip’s bedtime anyway. John doesn’t bother to take off his scrubs as he’s just going to put them on again soon. When he walks in the house, Alex has some color in his face. (It’s a significant change from when John saw him this morning). 

“John,” Alex breathes out, and John’s heart stops. He holds his breath, maybe finally Alex will say something that makes sense in for the first time in five years. Alex just smiles. (It’s an actual smile, not the drug-induced grins). 

“Alex,” John replies. Alex’s smile grows wider when John calls him by his nickname again.

“I thought about what you said. And - you’re right. I want to be there for Philip. It might take a while for him to actually like me… but I have to try. I want to be Philip’s dad. Even though you’ve been more of a father to him than I could ever be. I threw out any dope I have left. I’m willing to give it up for Philip,” Alex says. It’s more than he’s ever said to John for years, and it looks like he still isn’t done. This is the Alex that John fell in love with, the Alex that made him cough up flowers and blood. This is the Alex that John knows and that he still loves. John wants to say something, anything, but Alex continues. 

“And I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. But you’ve taken care of me since Eliza… You’re the one who’s made sure I ate three meals a day, the one who makes sure that I drink enough water everyday. You’re the one who pays most of the bills because I can’t. You’re the one who stays with me even though I don’t deserve it all. You’re the one who holds everything together. And, I can’t believe that I gave you up all those years ago,” Alex’s voice starts to break, he starts to break down and all John can do is watch. 

“I’m nothing compared to you, John. I married Eliza, I loved her, but you and her were like siblings, too. And you didn’t have any time to mourn her because you had to take care of me and Philip, and I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. You’re so much more than I could ever be,” Alex has tears shining in his eyes, diamonds that want to fall.  
“And - you’re here. You’re here and you’re perfect and you’ve never had time to cry or to let out your real feelings, and I know that I need to give you time to heal because you’ve never had time. But I have to say it, John, I love you.

“I love you and I can’t survive without you. I love you and I find myself waiting for you everyday. I love you and you light up every room that you walk into. I love you and I love everything about you. I love you and I - I hope it’s not too late for you to love me back,” Alex finally finishes, and he’s almost crying, but he’s not. John wants to say that Alex is lying, he’ll go back to his bad habits as soon as Philip comes home, but he doesn’t think that’s the case. (No flowers). 

Alex isn’t crying just yet, but John is. John’s wailing, big messy tears and loud noisy sobs. He rushes over to Alex and they kiss and it means so much more than John could ever think of. It’s just the two of them for a moment. They kiss and everything’s perfect and there’s (no flowers). 

It’s so perfectly Alex that he can barely describe it. The two of them are crying, sloppily kissing and holding each other tightly. John’s finally with Alex and it’s taken so, so long for them to reach this, but it’s so worth it. 

When they pull apart, they’re gazing into each other’s eyes and John lets out years of abuse and neglect and hurt and pain all out. He cries for Martha, he cries for Eliza, he cries for his mother, he cries for Alex, he cries for Philip, and he’s crying for himself. Alex holds him through. It’s just the two of them. 

John looks up at Alex with tears shining in his eyes. Alex looks back at him, and John knows that it’ll take so much for them to heal, but they can do it. He’s sure of it. 

“I-I have something for you,” Alex says finally. John sniffles. 

“Just finally being there for Philip and for me is enough, Alex,” John replies and Alex shakes his head. 

“No, it’s not enough. But in time, it will be. Here,” Alex lets go of John for a second to walk over to the kitchen counter and pull out a bouquet of flowers. 

John looks at them, and stares at the flowers in them. Ambrosia, purple hyacinths, gladiolus, pink and red roses, forget-me-nots, primroses… 

Alex holds them out for him and John smiles. He takes the bouquet and holds them to his heart. He takes a whiff of them and they smell fresh, beautiful and alluring. John gazes at them, and they’re gorgeous. 

“I love them,” John gushes. “They’re perfect,” 

Alex sighs out a breath of relief and walks back over to John. He offers John his arm, and the two of them link arms. 

It’s 3:10, and the two of them walk out of the house to pick up their son.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking around this long! Comments are always greatly appreciated <3
> 
> https://aggie-horticulture.tamu.edu/archives/parsons/publications/flowers/flowers.html - The flower meanings of the few that I used in this.


End file.
